


Words Are Spaces (Between Us)

by Kawaiibooker



Series: V one-shot [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, The boys dealing with it exactly the wrong way, Unhealthy Relationships, literally...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kazuhira is not ready and Medic learns his limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Are Spaces (Between Us)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polyphaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyphaga/gifts).



> Beta-read by candeloro and hayyie.
> 
> Written as a birthday present for polyphaga. Please keep the tags in mind before reading. Also you might want to listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaABZqW4DNg) first.
> 
> V series setting, 1974. [Medic](https://twitter.com/KaburagiKotetsu/status/739458664717778944) (aka Vincente Ruiz or "V") comes from Uruguay.

_Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente._

A common saying, one Vincente’s grandmother told him when she gave him sweets behind his parents’ backs and he in turn taught his sister, sneaking out past bed time to walk aimlessly down deserted streets and abandoned parks, talking about this and that, their gazes fixed on the stars above but their minds wandering to faraway times and places, a child’s imagination bridging the distances they couldn’t cross.

_What the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t feel._

Of course the real meaning is different, not made for childish dreams and bent rules – a lesson Vincente learned much, much later.

*

The late evening hour finds Medic working away at some files, barely able to read his own scrawled handwriting in the dim light of the bulb that doesn’t do a damn thing but buzz annoyingly loud, apparently. The med bay is empty, the last few missions running without casualties or major injuries thankfully, giving him the time to do some necessary paper work; he sent away his assistants an hour ago, his only company the black cat curled on a few folders he took out for reference and forgot to put away again. Taking a break every once in a while, Medic gives her a scratch behind delicate ears, Nuke’s favorite spot – it rekindles her sleepy purr to the constant rumbling he finds so relaxing, bringing a private smile to his tired face every time.

Medic sighs and gets back to work. Writing up patient records is not what he wishes to spend his limited downtime on yet he knows a military operation as big as MSF needs bureaucracy like he needs medical supplies, the recruits need bullets and Commander Miller needs coffee to run efficiently. The thought of the latter makes him pause mid-sentence, chuckling to himself quietly. _Coffee, booze and–_

The laugh drips from his lips, replaced by a troubled frown. There’s only one other thing the commander seems to have a relentless craving for and only a few weeks ago Medic would’ve said women, but that’s not exactly the case anymore, is it? Not since the man arrived at a meeting concerning the medical team’s budget all flushed and breathless, his normally so carefully styled hair an unruly mess, ascot wrapped up to his chin – and Big Boss right behind him, something akin to satisfaction glinting in his lone eye. It didn’t take much to connect the dots and when realization hit, the feeling in Medic’s chest reminded him of the time he got shot in the field, a few years back: Searing, white-hot pain that tore through him, so utterly _unexpected_ he didn’t know what to do for a moment. Helpless.

Their eyes met, Kazuhira’s lips twitched into a little smile, so different from his usual cocky smirk – and Medic had thought _maybe this is what he needs, maybe he’ll finally find what he’s looking for_ despite his gut telling him the opposite–

A sudden movement to his left distracts him before he can get lost in familiar what ifs, Nuke jerking out of her curled position to stare out into the night, eyes wide, ears pointed. “What is it?”, Medic mumbles, thick eyebrows drawing together first in surprise, then in worry as the feline flinches again, jumping down the table and running out the opened door of his office without a backward glance. He’s about to pin it on typical cat weirdness when he hears it, too: A distant crash, the clanging of something heavy on metal; heated yelling over the awed noises of a gathering crowd–

He groans. Although he vaguely wonders who it is this time – maybe Mosquito lost his temper again, Medic heard rumors he’s been tense for days now – a brawl, regardless of the cause, always means one thing for him: More work. _So much for calling it a day._

He’s out of his office in an instant, snatching his first aid bag on the way and jogging up to the nearest recruit he recognizes by the breadth of his shoulders, his confident stance. A man built like a brick wall. “Armadillo!”

It takes a firm tug of his meaty arm for the man to notice him, too focused on the commotion he’s walking towards at a brisk pace. He nods respectfully. “Medic. Already on your way, huh?”

“Yeah.” Medic doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance. He matches his wide strides. “Who is it this time?”

“Oh, you’re not gonna like this...”

The ominous words combined with the gleeful grin on the other’s face make him go faster, Medic prompting him to keep talking with an impatient gesture of his hand, eyes locked on the crowd in the distance. The immediate fighting seems to have stopped, the soldiers stepping aside to let someone through–

“It’s Commander Miller. Heard the Boss finally had enough – serves him right, if you ask me”, Armadillo is saying the moment Medic recognizes blonde hair, pale in contrast to the night sky. His stomach drops at the blood glistening on his face, smeared across his wrinkled shirt; it takes him a moment to process it’s Big Boss beside him, their arms slung across each other’s shoulders, limping slowly towards him. A low whistle comes from Armadillo at the sight and Medic doesn’t hesitate, heart racing in his chest as he runs to meet them.

“Boss, Commander–“

“Medic. Take him from here, will ya?”

The Boss’s voice is level if a bit out of breath; his jaw clenches, eye narrowing in a subtle wince when he pushes his subordinate away and into Medic’s waiting arms. He feels more than hears the other’s pained gasp against his neck – then Kazuhira flashes him a red grin.

“Careful with the goods, doc.”

 _I’m not the one who has to be careful_ , Medic thinks but doesn’t say, steadying his commander with an arm around his waist, bag dangling against his leg – he tilts Kazuhira’s head back with his free hand, checking the bruising on his face, the blood drying at the corner of his mouth, his dilated pupils behind the aviators. Quick, efficient, ticking off the bullet points on his mental checklist whilst ignoring his commander’s efforts to turn away from it. Medic doesn’t need to watch where he’s going, knowing the way to the med bay by memory; the recruits have learned to jump out of his way automatically. He throws the Boss a glance, noting similar injuries with decidedly less concern.

“What about you, sir?”

“I can take it”, Big Boss replies, wiping his knuckles against his shirt casually. The fabric comes away red. “Gotta send the soldiers back to their post, tell Base Development to fix things.” The men share a look. “The sauna’s a mess.”

Kazuhira huffs out a short laugh, “Well–“ but the Boss cuts him off: “ _Your_ mess, from tomorrow on. Don’t forget what I told you, Kaz.” His tone allows no argument. Kazuhira shuts his mouth with a sharp click of teeth, tensing against Medic’s side. He looks away, nods.

Big Boss takes his leave with a squeeze to Medic’s shoulder and one last lingering stare at his subordinate’s face.

*

It’s easy for Medic to tune out his surroundings at work, his mind flicking through symptoms and diagnoses parallel to the precise movements of his fingers over cuts and bruises, dislocated shoulders, broken bones or worse; stray thoughts and emotions wash over him like a shallow stream over solid granite, there but not enough to really move him, to affect the decisions he has to make in a fraction of a second to do his job. To save lives, wherever possible.

Silence reigns the med bay, the minutes ticking by agonizingly slow and Medic is aware of it all, now: The cold light of the halogen lamps above him, the stale air smelling sharply of disinfectant and freshly-opened bandages, his hands slick with sweat in his rubber gloves. He keeps his eyes down and focused, following the gradual reveal of purpling skin under fabric damp from both perspiration and blood and the stream isn’t shallow anymore, it’s a raging current tearing at his composure.

There’s pain etched into every hesitant movement of Kazuhira’s body as he leans back to help remove his shirt with a hiss – still he smiles, confidence covering the strain in his voice. “The Boss doesn’t kid around, huh... Everyone always says he fights like an animal but an animal couldn’t be this effective. _Fuck._ ”

The curse is followed by a low chuckle, quickly lost to the stillness around them. Medic glances up, close enough to see himself mirrored in the other’s sunglasses, the reflection distorted; he reaches up, lips tightening at Kazuhira’s flinch. “Can I?”, he asks quietly and waits for his nod before he takes them off, folding them and putting them on the tray to his right. A distant part of him is glad he didn’t have his treasured aviators on during the fight; all other thoughts he pushes away, leaves the words on the tip of his tongue unsaid as he did so many times before. It’s not as easy as it used to be.

Wetting a clean towel, Medic begins to wipe away the blood and dirt with gentle pressure, starting at his temple, over his cheek to his jaw. Rinse and repeat, clear water tinging crimson as he slowly works his way downward, revealing more bruises than unscathed, pale skin. Medic grits his teeth until his jaw hurts.

He can feel Kazuhira’s gaze on him, sees his eyes narrow and his pupils flicker restlessly over his features as if he doesn’t quite know where to look. Paper sheets rustle when he shifts his weight, fiddling with the ruined shirt in his lap. “So much for the sauna, huh? I’d hoped it would make it longer than this... Wasn’t easy to pull off, with the special wood and all. Wasn’t cheap, either.” He mutters the last part, trailing off awkwardly.

The space he leaves for Medic’s reply remains empty, long seconds of silence only broken by the soft trickle of water. The towel passes over the delicate curve of his collarbone – bruised, possibly cracked –, the angry red welts fanning out over his chest, the scrapes and cuts all over his torso where he was hit with enough force to break skin–

“Listen, I know you’re not thrilled about the extra work and all, okay? No need to give me the cold shoulder.” A huff. “I don’t know why he insisted I come here, I’m fine–“

Medic stops, closes his eyes. “You’re not.” He finally meets Kazuhira’s confused look, blue on blue. “You’re not _fine_. There’s _nothing_ about this that is fine.”

The other stares at him for a moment longer before he grimaces, understanding dawning on his face. “Not you, too”, Kazuhira groans, makes a placating gesture with his right; his left stays curled in his lap, _check for damage_ , Medic thinks. _Later._ “Fine, I got it already. No more sleeping around. The thing with Swan was a mistake by the way, who in his right mind would wanna piss off Armadillo–“

“I couldn’t care less about who you sleep with, Kaz. I’m talking about–“ _what he did to you._ Medic takes a deep breath, sets aside the towel. He rakes his fingers through his hair, his palm rasping against his short buzzcut. “Just look at you. This fight...”

Kazuhira barks out a laugh that turns into a pained gasp. His hand flies to his stomach, massaging the bruised flesh gingerly. “I’ve had worse, you know that. Come on, doc, no need to get worked up over a few cuts and bruises–“

“Once. You’ve had worse _once_ and that was when I first met you. Not that you remember much of that.” There’s nothing he can do about the tremble in his voice, the memory of that day one Medic doesn’t revisit often – only to remind himself why he stays. Why he has no other choice. He sharpens his tone, catches Kazuhira’s eyes. “You were enemies then, he treated you accordingly. What’s the reason this time? Jealousy?”

Kazuhira frowns. “Why would you–“

Medic talks over him, ever louder until he’s yelling out the words he swallowed down in the past, the pressure mounting every time he saw the bruises Kaz didn’t hide well enough, the limp he couldn’t quite suppress:

“Sleeping around doesn’t warrant this. Nothing does. The Boss went too far! He’s your CO, for God’s sake! He’s supposed to take care of his men, not beat them up–!”

“That’s enough!” Kazuhira’s voice is too hoarse to shout and he doesn’t need to, his words ringing through the med bay with an authority of their own. His eyes flash in anger, lips twisted into a snarl. “You think that’s what happened? That I let him have a go like a coward?! You saw the Boss; it was a fair fucking fight, alright–“

Medic knows he already lost, that he pushed too hard but he won’t budge, not on this, _he’s too important–_

“Open your eyes, Kaz! What happened– That wasn’t a battle of wills or a fight between equals or whatever romanticized bullshit you want to call it and you know it! You’re just too fucking proud to admit–“

Kazuhira stands, the force of it pushing back the cot with a screech of metal on metal; he’s swaying, the color draining rapidly from his face – the fury in his eyes burns on regardless, stilling Medic’s instinctive move to steady him.

“Shut the fuck up! What are you even talking about?! You weren’t there, you didn’t see _shit_! And now you just _assume_ –”

Kazuhira’s voice breaks and he coughs, hand going to the darkening marks on his neck; hate rises like bile in Medic’s throat, impossible to swallow down. He wrestles his voice into a semblance of serenity nonetheless, as fragile as cracked glass.

“Listen to me, Kaz, please. This– this isn’t normal. You deserve better than being controlled like this. He’s not worth it, nobody is.”

“I don’t care what you think”, Kazuhira hisses wetly, spits a bit of blood to the ground at Medic’s feet. “What you think is ‘normal’, who you deem ‘worth it’, I don’t fucking care! You think you can just waltz in here and say all this shit? _You_ , of all people? What a fucking joke!”

Medic takes a step back, breath catching. “What do you–“

_“Kaz, I’m...” He can’t look at him, keeps his eyes fixed on his own wringing hands; tan skin, bloodless from the pressure. Shaking._

_“Oh.” A moment of stunned silence. “My question still stands, though: How long has it been?”_

_“I can’t exactly, uh, remem–”_

_“Wow, okay, no, that won’t do. What’s your type?_

_“...”_

_“No need to look at me like that, V, this is important. Here, drink.” He offers him the bottle, grins when he takes it. “So. A guy. What else?”_

_He sighs, drinks. “You’re impossible”, he says, feeling lighter than he has in years._

_A wink over the rim of his aviators. “I’ve heard that once or twice, yes.”_

Kazuhira’s eyes narrow to vicious slits, his voice dripping with venom: “It’s not the Boss who’s fucking jealous. You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, do you? What a relationship really means?”

He steps closer.

“I don’t need your fucking advice. And lemme tell you something else: What’s between me and the Boss has nothing to do with you. I suggest you start minding your own fucking business and do your job, _Medic_.”

Medic’s lips part soundlessly. Kazuhira hasn’t called him by his formal codename in years, not in private at least; the way he uses it now – cold, impersonal, a commander putting his subordinate in his place, as if that’s all they are to each other – is like a knife to his heart, sharpened and pointed with deadly precision, rendering him utterly speechless for the eternity of a second.

Then he straightens his back and squares his shoulders. The current rushes on and on and he’s tired of fighting it.

Medic returns Kazuhira’s challenging look levelly–

“Understood, Commander.”

–and surrenders.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm sorry (read: Friendly reminder to never let me write Mkaz ever).
> 
> This was supposed to be a one-shot but it turned out different than I expected so I might add a second part in the future ~~who am I kidding I'm most definitely gonna write a second chap for this~~
> 
> EDIT: There's [wonderful fanart](https://twitter.com/KaburagiKotetsu/status/742353001487183872) for this by [klingoni](http://klingoni.tumblr.com/).


End file.
